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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480785">A Mystery Play</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing'>on_the_wing</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal/pseuds/Royal'>Royal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Crack, Family Drama, Gay Parents, Homelessness, M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, Shopping addiction, Teacher-Student Relationship, probably more teen-rated but i wanted to be safe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:20:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal/pseuds/Royal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phobos and Porthos are gay high school students at a gay high school in a gay world. CAN THEIR LOVE SURVIVE THESE HARSH TRIALS????</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bering/Cook (Starfighter), Cook/Phobos (Starfighter), Deimos/Praxis (Starfighter), Encke/Keeler (Starfighter), Phobos/Porthos (Starfighter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A writeup of a spontaneous crack au session between the authors in the SF discord, tortured into script form by on_the_wing because why not.</p><p>In spite of the name, a mystery play generally doesn’t revolve around a murder mystery; it’s a type of medieval European play that consists of scenes from the Bible, often including satire, memes and other random stuff. They mostly died out around the time of the Reformation, but a few are still performed now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>CHARACTERS</strong>
</p><p>PHOBOS: a day student at the local gay private school.</p><p>PRAXIS: dad of Phobos.</p><p>DEIMOS: other dad of Phobos.</p><p>PORTHOS: a day student and boyfriend of Phobos.</p><p>COOK: the high school drama &amp; dance instructor as well as head of the PTA; dad of Porthos.</p><p>BERING: other dad of Porthos, he’s probably a banker or something.</p><p>ETHOS: a <strike>nerd</strike> day student.</p><p>VICKS: a…boarding student? unclear</p><p>ENCKE: Ethos’ dad.</p><p>KEELER: <strike>a Stepford wife</strike> j/k a health and sciences teacher; other dad of Ethos.</p><p>HELIOS and ATHOS: boarding students and roommates. OMG they were roommates no not like that. Somehow they manage to have an apartment off-campus, I think they might be older and doing the high school version of postbac. Or maybe they're at the community college. Who cares.</p><p>ABEL, CAIN, and SELENE: assorted day students.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <strong>Scene I</strong>
</p><p>Time: evening.</p><p>Location: a world without pandemic, specifically the kitchen of the Praxmos household.</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS is at the stove dressed like a cozy lumberjack and stirring a pot of his famous—sort of—turkey chili. PHOBOS enters with a dramatic slam, sighing loudly and tossing his bag aside.)</em>
</p><p>PHOBOS: Ugh! You would not believe the day I had! What’s for dinner?</p><p>PRAXIS: <em>(pointedly)</em> Hello, son.</p><p>(PHOBOS ignores the greeting and sprawls artistically in a chair, ostentatiously tucking an ankle or two behind his ear.)</p><p>PHOBOS: I can’t believe that dumb bitch Abel got the lead instead of me. He can’t even enunciate properly. You know how he pronounces basil? Baa-aa-aa-sil, like a sheep. He’s such a HOSEBEAST. He’s probably blowing Cook.</p><p>PRAXIS: I understand that you’re upset, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to use language that’s demeaning to women.</p><p>PHOBOS: Oh my GAAAWD. He’s not even a woman! Why won’t you ever LISTEN TO ME???!! I feel so UNHEARD in this house! You’re my DAD, you’re supposed to SUPPORT ME!!!</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS edges toward the door.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: I think I, uh, forgot to turn off the power saw…</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS disappears into the garage.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(PHOBOS makes a noise like a furious tea kettle and prepares to storm off to his room. He stops suddenly, turns back, and rummages in the pocket of a jacket hanging by the door before running off stage.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(After a moment, Praxis sticks his head back in with exaggerated caution and, seeing that the coast is clear, returns and begins to clear off the counter.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS enters, wearing office clothes and carrying the mail that Phobos apparently ignored on his way in. He gives Praxis a smooch and a lingering butt pat, then whips out a knife and…begins to open the mail. He frowns at a bill and holds it up for Praxis to look at.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Oh no! This can’t be right. I definitely didn’t order $357.29 worth of….Victor’s Secret? Do you think some hacker figured out my password? Maybe I should’ve picked something harder to guess than our anniversary.</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS rolls his eyes and jerks his head in the direction of Phobos’ room. PRAXIS gasps.)</em>
</p><p>DEIMOS <em>(in a quiet rasp, eviscerating another envelope)</em>: You spoil him. If—</p><p>
  <em>(The doorbell rings, and Praxis answers it.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Oh hello, Porthos. I’m not sure this is a good—</p><p>PORTHOS: <em>(with a winning smile, clutching textbooks ostentatiously to his muscular bosom)</em> Hello, Mr. Praxmos. And Mr. Praxmos. I’m just here to study with Phobos for the biology test tomorrow.</p><p>PRAXIS: Well, I suppose that can’t hurt.</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS’ blank face becomes even blanker.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(PHOBOS emerges from the hall to drag PORTHOS up to his room, but DEIMOS blocks their way, brandishing the letter opener in the ASL sign for ‘open.’)</em>
</p><p>PHOBOS: Daaaaaad! We’re just studying! That is so HOMOPHOBIC!</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS rolls his eyes.)</em>
</p><p>PORTHOS: We understand, sir. We’ll leave the door open, of course.</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS stands aside and lets them through, then stalks back to the counter with Praxis.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(PHOBOS and PORTHOS start up the stairs.)</em>
</p><p>PHOBOS <em>(giggling)</em>: I can’t believe you told them we have a test tomorrow!</p><p>PORTHOS <em>(straight-faced)</em>: We do have a test tomorrow.</p><p>
  <em>(Back in the kitchen, DEIMOS stares after them, frowning.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: I know, I don’t trust him either. What kid calls his friends’ parents ‘sir?’ It’s not natural.</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS gives him an amused look.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS <em>(laughing)</em>: Okay fine, what kid except teenage me. And kids are even more casual nowadays.</p><p>DEIMOS <em>(leaning in and feeling him up)</em>: You can call <em>me</em> sir if you want.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For the purposes of the au, your last name is the ship name of your parents. Once you get married or long-term paired up, your own ship name becomes your last name. So the Praxmos family are Deimos Praxmos, Praxis Praxmos, and Phobos Praxmos. Poor Porthos is Porthos Cookring...he tries to pretend it's Coring but his dads are shameless.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scene 2</p><p>Time: Two hours later (of <em>course</em> Porthos ended up staying for dinner)<br/>Location: Phobos’ bedroom</p><p>(<em>PHOBOS and PORTHOS are seated on the floor with their backs against the bed, legs touching and heads tilted towards each other. PORTHOS is reading from a stack of flash cards.)</em></p><p>PORTHOS: Tissues are groups of similar cells working together to…</p><p>PHOBOS: Bang your mom.</p><p>PORTHOS: Haha. <em>(He waits expectantly.)</em></p><p>PHOBOS <em>(leaning his head on Porthos’ shoulder and reading the card)</em>: Perform common functions. Like…banging your mom.</p><p>PORTHOS: Cheating, but I’ll allow it. Once. You have to close your eyes if you’re going to stay there. <em>(He strokes PHOBOS’ hair.) </em></p><p>PHOBOS: Ooh, are you going to blindfold me?</p><p>PORTHOS: I trust you. What is the main function of muscle tissue?</p><p>PHOBOS <em>(squeezing his thigh)</em>: Banging your mom.</p><p>PORTHOS: You seem really into my mom. Are you sure you shouldn’t be studying with her instead?</p><p>PHOBOS: I’ve been too busy banging her.</p><p>PORTHOS: Does that make you…my other mom?</p><p>PHOBOS <em>(giggling)</em>: Ewwww! Porthos! </p><p>PORTHOS <em>(imitating that creepy little kid from Dr. Who)</em>: Are you my mummy?</p><p>PHOBOS: You know what, I’m suddenly very passionate about pursuing my education. What was the question again?</p><p>PORTHOS: What is the main function of muscle tissue?</p><p>PHOBOS: Making you look hot? </p><p>PORTHOS: Close, but no.</p><p>PHOBOS: Making you…strong? <em>(He feels PORTHOS’ bicep.)</em></p><p>PORTHOS <em>(trying to hide a smile)</em>: What does being strong let you do? </p><p>PHOBOS: Bang your—just kidding. Lift stuff?</p><p>PORTHOS: That’s part of it. The answer is movement.</p><p>PHOBOS: Ugh, that should have been obvious. Next.</p><p>PORTHOS: What are the four primary tissue types?</p><p>PHOBOS: Muscle, nerve, skin…what’s the other one…</p><p>PORTHOS: It’s epithelium, not just skin. It also lines your organs.</p><p>PHOBOS: Whatever. So what’s the fourth one?</p><p>PORTHOS: Connective. (<em>He turns to the next card.) </em>Smooth muscle is mainly found in…</p><p>PHOBOS <em>(slipping a hand under his shirt):</em> Your abs? </p><p>PORTHOS: Um, close. In the walls of hollow organs such as the stomach and—</p><p>
  <em>(PHOBOS grabs his head and kisses him. PORTHOS makes a tiny noise of surprise but drops the flash cards and kisses him back.)</em>
</p><p>PHOBOS: You know what, I completely forgot the muscles in the torso. Can I practice them on you? You’re so…defined.</p><p>PORTHOS <em>(looking around furtively)</em>: That’s a really bad idea. You know your dad keeps walking by.</p><p><em>(PHOBOS leaps up and pushes the door closed so it’s only open by a crack.)</em> </p><p>PHOBOS: There. Now he can’t see us. <em>(He sits down again, straddling PORTHOS, and toys with the hem of PORTHOS’ shirt.)</em> Come on, don’t you want me to get a good education?</p><p>(<em>PORTHOS blushes, and hormones finally get the better of his reason. He pulls off his shirt, and PHOBOS murmurs appreciatively, feeling him up.)</em></p><p>PORTHOS <em>(trying to be stern but chest heaving)</em>: You have to name anything you touch.</p><p>PHOBOS: All right. This is…Emile.<em> (He strokes PORTHOS’ arm).</em></p><p>PORTHOS <em>(laughing)</em>: The scientific name. You know what I meant.</p><p>PHOBOS <em>(sighing dramatically)</em>: If I must. This is the bicep. And this is the deltoid. And this is…</p><p>
  <em>(The door slams open and DEIMOS bursts into like an avenging angel. PHOBOS and PORTHOS freeze in terror.)</em>
</p><p>DEIMOS <em>(icily)</em>: Off.</p><p>
  <em>(They hastily separate, and PORTHOS grabs his shirt and clutches it to his chest. DEIMOS points at PORTHOS, then at the door.)</em>
</p><p>DEIMOS: Leave. Now. </p><p>(<em>PORTHOS hurriedly throws his shirt on backwards, stuffs his books in his bag, and gets up to leave.)</em></p><p>DEIMOS <em>(to PHOBOS)</em>: You’re grounded for a week. </p><p>PHOBOS: DAAAAAD, that’s not FAIR. We were just STUDYING ANATOMY. Do you want me to FAIL?</p><p>DEIMOS: Two weeks. </p><p>
  <em>(PHOBOS lets out a furious teapot noise, but is smart enough not to speak and incur a third week.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS grabs PORTHOS by the back of the collar, having to stretch up to do so, and marches him downstairs and out the door, ignoring his apologies and excuses.) </em>
</p><p>PRAXIS <em>(closing the dishwasher)</em>: What happened?!</p><p>DEIMOS: Too much. </p><p>PRAXIS: You don’t mean they were—</p><p>DEIMOS: HE was shirtless. <em>(He inclines his head toward the front door.)</em></p><p>PRAXIS. Oh! Well, that’s not so bad…it does get stuffy up there, maybe—</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS glares and shakes his head.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Oh. All right. But don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him? Half the kids in my class were having sex at that age. </p><p>DEIMOS: They shouldn’t have been. You know how long it took me to—</p><p>PRAXIS <em>(hugging him)</em>: I know, sweetheart. But Phobos has us, and he won’t have to go through what you did.</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS leans against him, but stares into the distance, face tight but expressionless.)</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heterosexual sex is taboo in this society, so for a guy to talk about banging someone's mom--even in the abstract--is extra shocking, at least in theory. At this point it's about as edgy as a butter knife. </p><p>In case you're curious about logistics, the standard practice is for a male couple and a female couple (usually but not always living in the same town, almost never living in the same household) to make an agreement to reproduce together. They use artificial insemination and once weaned, boy babies go to the dads and girls stay with the moms. Either or both members of each couple may donate genetic material, and they sometimes use in vitro fertilization so that each couple can have the number of babies that they want.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scene 3</p><p>Time: a few weeks later; afternoon</p><p>Location: the Praxmos household</p><p>--</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS, holding a laptop covered with sparkly Mickey Ulish stickers, charges downstairs past PRAXIS and out the door, pausing only to pick up the car keys from the table by the front door.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Sweetheart, what’s—hey! Where are you going?</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS gets into the car and makes an “are you coming or not” gesture. PRAXIS hurries to fold himself into the passenger seat, picking up the laptop that DEIMOS had tossed into it.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: What’s wrong? Where are we going?</p><p>
  <em>(DEIMOS bares his teeth in a feral grimace.) </em>
</p><p>DEIMOS: Look.</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS turns the laptop over in his hands).</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Phobos’ laptop? What? Why— </p><p>DEIMOS: Look. At. It.</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS bemusedly opens the laptop.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Okay, so he has a…somewhat suggestive picture as his desktop background, but…don’t most boys? </p><p>DEIMOS <em>(hissing in frustration)</em>: The messages.</p><p>PRAXIS: Should we be reading his—</p><p>DEIMOS: YES. </p><p>(<em>PRAXIS wrinkles his brow, but complies. He scrolls for a few seconds, his expression shifting from neutral to confusion to worry to—)</em></p><p>PRAXIS: HOLY FUCKING MOTHERBALLS. He is DEAD MEAT. How COULD he—we TRUST him to—</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS growls and slams his fist on the dashboard. DEIMOS flinches.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: Sorry, sweetie. I just—I can’t believe he would DO something like that.</p><p>DEIMOS <em>(fingers clenched on the steering wheel)</em>: I can.</p><p>
  <em>(PRAXIS gently rubs his shoulder, but DEIMOS stays tense.)</em>
</p><p>PRAXIS: We’ll get through this. Somehow.</p><p>DEIMOS <em>(under his breath)</em>: HE won’t, if I have anything to say about it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not endorsing parents spying on kids blah blah blah it’s fiction don’t @ me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scene 4</p><p>Time: later that afternoon<br/>
Location: a bus stop near the high school</p><p>(<em>VICKS is slouched on the bench directly under the no smoking sign, inhaling a cheap cigarette. PORTHOS, wearing a gray hoodie with the hood pulled up and carrying not only his backpack but a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder, strides up as if dragging an entire thunderstorm behind him. He sits down on the opposite end of the bench. His face is carefully turned away from VICKS, but we can see that his eyes are red and puffy. They sit like this for an uncomfortably long time, VICKS shooting occasional glances in PORTHOS’ direction.)</em></p><p>VICKS <em>(holding out the pack)</em>: Hey man, you want one?</p><p>PORTHOS: Why not. Thanks. </p><p>(<em>PORTHOS looks down at the cigarette with vague alarm, but leans over to allow VICKS to light it for him. PORTHOS inhales, then coughs and chokes for several seconds. VICKS clears his throat, looking down at PORTHOS’ bag.</em>)</p><p>VICKS: So, uh…where you headed?</p><p>PORTHOS: I don’t know. </p><p>
  <em>(ETHOS walks up and waves to PORTHOS.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: Porthos? Is that you? Don’t you have practice?</p><p>
  <em>(PORTHOS shakes his head.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: Oh yeah, I forgot it’s Thursday. Where’s Phobos? It’s weird to see you without him.</p><p>
  <em>(PORTHOS looks away, taking another drag off the cigarette and this time managing not to cough.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: Porthos! Are you <em>smoking?!</em> Omigod, do you know what that will do to your—</p><p>PORTHOS: I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT! Everyone else around here does!</p><p>
  <em>(VICKS shrinks away and ETHOS stares.)</em>
</p><p>PORTHOS: Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. </p><p>
  <em>(PORTHOS drops the cigarette and grinds it out with his heel, clearly relieved to have an excuse to get rid of it.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: Porthos, are you okay? </p><p>PORTHOS <em>(automatically)</em>: I’m fine, thanks.</p><p>VICKS: Do you need a place to stay? I can tell you the best places to crash. And the ones to stay away from.</p><p>
  <em>(ETHOS and PORTHOS turn startled looks on him. VICKS just takes another drag and keeps going.)</em>
</p><p>VICKS: Like, Helios and Athos, those postgrads who have their own apartment on Kepler Street, they have a pull-out couch. They stay up really late so you won’t get much sleep, but they’re pretty chill and they share their weed and food. And they won’t, like, <em>try</em> anything. But on the other hand, if you ever meet this rich old blond guy Hayden, he hangs out in the park sometimes, DO NOT go home with him. He seems nice at first, but—ugh. Just don’t do it. </p><p>
  <em>(ETHOS finally manages to pick his jaw up off the floor.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: No one is sleeping on stoner couches tonight or, or—fending off advances! I don’t know what happened with either of you, but you’re coming home with me tonight. My dads will figure something out.</p><p>VICKS <em>(beginning to melt away into the background)</em>: Uh, thanks man, but I dunno…</p><p>
  <em>(ETHOS craftily rummages in his bag and pulls out a container of butterscotch oatmeal cookies.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS: Are either of you hungry? My dad loves cooking for people. He made these for the chess club but there are still a few left. </p><p>
  <em>(ETHOS opens the container and holds it out, and VICKS sniffs and inches forward like a wary wild animal—which, apparently, he is—before grabbing a handful of cookies and stuffing them in his mouth. PORTHOS takes one and gives it a couple of polite nibbles before setting it down on the bench and staring into space. VICKS eyes the abandoned cookie for a moment and then stealthily pockets it.)</em>
</p><p>ETHOS <em>(carelessly)</em>: I heard we’re having pot roast for dinner today. And garlic herb mashed potatoes.</p><p>VICKS: Which brand?</p><p>ETHOS: No brand. Real potatoes. The golden kind. With butter. </p><p>VICKS <em>(skeptical)</em>: Real butter? Who uses real butter for mashed potatoes? </p><p>ETHOS: My dad, that’s who. </p><p>VICKS <em>(drooling)</em>: That is <em>crazy</em>.</p><p>ETHOS: So, we should probably get going—it’s going to rain soon.</p><p>VICKS: Okay, you convinced me, hahaha. Port, you coming?</p><p>ETHOS <em>(patting PORTHOS’ shoulder)</em>: Porthos? Come on.</p><p>
  <em>(PORTHOS looks up, blinking, and allows himself to be led off.)</em>
</p>
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